


The Days of August

by Seraphim_Burning



Category: Fringe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Family, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphim_Burning/pseuds/Seraphim_Burning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August and Christine in their lives post the series. Mostly canon based (as close as possible while resurrecting August)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His World

**His World**

It was a truth of his reality that wherever Christine Hollis went she drew attention and admiration.

In the years that followed her banishment from her timeline by the Council of Months he had travelled alongside her and, in that time, certain occurrences had become common place. Wherever and whenever he took her she literally turned heads; drawing in the collective gazes of men and women alike, regardless of what she what she was wearing or what she was doing. August surmised it was just Christine herself, her smile, her mannerisms and everything about her bled life vivacity and sheer mortality. Humans of all times were draw to her like moths to a flame and he could not deny the attraction as he himself had been willing to give his life simply to be in hers.

Nowhere did she draw more attention then in those rare instances where he brought her back with him to 2609- this his ‘original time’ and his home.

Truthfully, he had little desire to return to his ‘home’ as Christine put it. Observers did not feel the same connection to their own time as humans seemed wont to do and August was no exception to that. After the initial hearing that decided her fate and the subsequent arbitration that had bound them together there was no reason to go back to the location of his birth. His genetic progenitors were alive and he kept in some contact with them but they did not reside permanently in that specific time nor did many others.

The world he had been born into was the same Earth they travelled, however his world was too polished. Even with the well manner stewardship of the Earth itself nature no longer held any splendor, all things natural were landscaped, sculpted, labeled and carefully contained. It was predictable bordering on boring and very few of his kind sought out the monotony it offered.

He had no friends or family that were incapable of travelling to wherever he was in order to speak with him if the need arose and all contact was conducted through the small communicators every Observer was implanted with. Christine herself had only ever directly met one or two of his people; September who had been eager enough to meet her given his penchant for her particular time period and his knowledge of their situation (both past and unknown past) and December, who had been acting as a representative for the Arbitration system and felt the need to deliver the verdict to her personally.

August suspected both were adequately entranced by her but he also would conceded that his judgment on all things Christine was severely compromised.

Then he had brought her to his time and discovered something rather startling, he was not the only one of his kind to be enthralled by her particular charms.

It had been a scheduled visit with a member of the medical council and a necessary one. An issue he had brought up during the debates with the Arbitration committee was that humans from Christine’s time were not physiologically resilient enough to transport through time as their kind did. It was a rational concern; while his particular species was indeed human they were not what the original humans were, just as different as Christine was from her own ancestors. His kind were stronger, smarter, with more intricately developed brains and a fair few senses that humans of the twenty first century did not yet possess. One element of this was their more durable physiology made the damage done by the time travel process minimal whereas the stress of time travel itself was liable to tear Christine’s body apart. An agreement was made that if Christine consented to a life as his partner then she would receive medical treatments to maintain and reverse the damage that she would endure. He had insured it would not be anything too invasive, she would be sedated, injected with a compound developed by Walter Bishop to make her more capable of time travel and then the damage to her body would be corrected. Chrono-particles would be cleansed, her organs would be healed and, eventually, her own implanted tech would be seen too. Nothing that would change her personality (he could not have abided that) but he had no qualms about prolonging her life as much as possible.

August had estimate the entire process could be completed in a series of ongoing visits of less then twenty-four hours a piece. They would arrive, proceed to the medical center, Christine would be treated and then they would leave. He had not expected she would draw the attention she did.

It had begun simply. He had activated the transporter and held her securely in his free arm while she held her suitcase and his briefcase in his own grasp. It was the most common way for them to travel and he knew once she had her own implant it would no longer be necessary so he took full advantage of it while he had the opportunity to do so. He did not mind the way she would tilt her head, nuzzling the crook of his neck and peppering his exposed throat with warm kisses. It made travelling most enjoyable.

His own world had changed greatly because of Walter Bishop and September’s plan. The main difference being he was one of the few living creatures aware of the changes the plan had instigated. His ‘death’, an event almost unique among his people, had granted him a divorce form the normal timeline that even September could not lay claim to. In fact, his friend (for really that’s what the other Observer was) could only speculate how they had come to be, appearing together in a restaurant they had eaten at in the twenty-first century with no memory of how they had ever arrived at such a place. Some aspects of time were still lost to their kind and they had agreed, in that moment, to leave it be; Christine was safe, the world was safe and it quickly became apparent that the totalitarian plans their superiors had wanted to instigate had instead become a passion for scientific exploration and the reverent study of human evolution.

Other differences in this new world quickly became obvious. Observers did have the capability to feel emotions both positive and negative but overall logic ruled in emotion’s stead. It was something August was grateful for, as a world where his kind were ruled by impulse seemed more dangerous then the one they had erased. Perhaps the biggest difference was the advent of the females. They were just as common as their male counterparts, and similar in appearance and completely unobtrusive to all others except for himself and September, both of whom were aware of their own alternate pasts. The females’ bodies were idealized, a balance of height and weight designed to conform to the healthy human ideal. They were pale as most of his kind were, all with varying eye colours and possessing the same blonde white hair- pulled back tightly into buns at the nape of their necks; some had their hair sheered short in a style Christine called ‘a pixie cut’. They all wore the same feminine version of the suit and fedora all his kind favored and, in most ways, acted just like their male counterparts. He found them slightly disconcerting but, in his mind, they were nothing in comparison to the woman he had fallen in love with. On the whole his interaction with them was minimal, including the one who had maternally contributed to his existence.

So, consequently, he thought just as little about the interactions between the sexes of his people that he thought about their method of arrival or Christine’s own appearance and the impact it might have on his wholly homogenous society. At the scheduled time they appeared in the atrium of the main medical institution with Christine at his side and as they parted she did as she always did, pressed a warm kiss to the side of his neck.

People stared; not just a glance but flat out stopped moving and stared.

It was surprising. He was used to a more subtle form of attention. Men would look at his Christine through hooded eyes, women would casually glance at the vivacious young nymph at his side. His kind were not very subtle creatures when the situation did not demand it. However, when they arrived at their designated place all activity paused. It was not that most of his kind had never seen a human of her era (in fact most took great delight in observing her particular time) but the laws were quite clear and the repercussions of interactions very severe. In most cases what he had done was a crime punishable by full timeline erasure or revocation of time traveling rights. It was only his and Christine’s specific circumstances that allowed for their survival and, of course, the fact that she was supposed to be dead.

The attention did not seem to phase Christine in the least. She took a moment to look around before doing the most typical Christine thing. She flashed a smile that made his chest hurt before twisting around in his arms. She was on her tiptoes in an instant, her mouth angled against his in an action he was happily familiar with, even as her hands wrapped around his neck. He placed his own hands around her waist and smiled at the contact, he had long since admitted to himself he would never deny her anything, most especially his affections.

He let her press her lips to his, never allowing her kiss to grow out of control. He knew this kiss, it was one he had experienced before. This was ownership, or he liked to think it was. It was a defiant kiss that plainly stated that she was his and he was hers to anyone who was watching them. She did it when she felt their relationship was in question and wanted to make it perfectly clear that she was, in no way, ashamed of what they shared. It had made him uncomfortable at first (the spectacle of it) but as he grew more aware of her mannerism and quirks he grew to view it a simple affection and an outward expression of her love.

She parted from him happily, pressing her hand into his as he led her across the expanse towards the towers where they were due for their appointment, she did not even glance at those who had been watching them.

As their scheduled stops at the Medical center became predictable it seemed common for others to anticipate their arrival and, apparently, wait for it. He and Christine would appear in the Atrium where a progressively larger and larger group of his people would be waiting, eyes peeled and ready. Christine was usually pleased by this and would then proceeded with her ritual of pressing her lips to his in a kiss. There was nothing untoward about it and it amused him that, in some of their little adventures, she was much more erotic. This seemed to be for others, not focused on arousal but rather acknowledgement.

Then things began to change.

On their four visitations he noticed at least two females who were not wearing their hats.

Then on their sixth visit some of the women had her hair down, loose and pin straight over her shoulders like Christine’s was.

On the tenth visit he was surprised to see at least three couples holding hands.

It was shocking to think of but he should not have been surprised at the inevitable results. Christine Hollis had a tendency to draw attention and admiration wherever she went especially among his kind.


	2. Her World

Her World

Observers observed time differently from other creatures in their universe. August himself did not understand the intricacies of this fact, nor did he truly understand what exactly had happened to him that would cause the memories of his alternate self and his current self to merge as they did. But the fact was they had and now he was one of two that could bare witness to what his kind had been without emotions and what they were with them. It was not a pleasant ‘gift’ to be granted but it was his to do with as he pleased, and he chose to learn from it.

  
The last conscious thought he could recall form his past life was sitting in the back seat of a car, ridden with bullets, bleeding out and being driven away form Christine and Donald Long by September. He had watched it all slip away form him; the world he had known and grown to love and the woman he loved even more fiercely then that. All gone in a moment of self-sacrifice that he both regretted and would not change for an instant. In the back seat of that car he closed his eyes, exhaled and then…

  
Then, rather suddenly, he was back. Back in that little Indian restaurant, a plate of chilies in front of him and September across from him. For a moment they just stare, both too aware of the situation and neither sure of what was really happening.

  
Life and death were strange things, the universe itself was beyond their comprehension and while August was not at all certain of where he had gone after the car or how he had returned to that specific point in time or even why he and September were there but December was not; he was just as certain none of it mattered. He only knew one thing; he had been given a second chance to live and with this new life he would go to Christine and spend every moment with her.

  
The changes in his own physiology were glaringly obvious. He still looked like himself but he felt the differences keenly. His mind was still as meticulous as it had always been, his thoughts were clear and organized and his interests remained the same, but there was a depth to it all now that had never been there before. The tentative beginnings of whatever he had felt that had made him throw himself in front of those bullets for Christine were now full grown, mature and humbling to him. Emotions. He felt things he had never felt before and his own desires were ever present and not frightening as they had once been- he could recognize his feelings for her and their sheer magnitude. Love was no longer a foreign thing to him and his love for her did nothing but grow in the years that followed.

  
He eagerly awaited the moment he would see her again. He was still given his assignment and he repeated the correct actions as best he could. He was still forced to watch her parents die. He still found her after the aftermath of the earthquake, small and resilient in the face of so much destruction and death. The love he felt for her then was not at all romantic (to his own relief) but a deep seeded admiration. He looked at that small child and he saw something in that tiny body that was greater then anything he had seen before. She was larger then herself, then the disaster or anything in her world.

  
He loved her for it. Not the body but the spirit that sustained something so vibrant and veracious that its beauty was beyond measure.

  
Even as a child Christine Hollis was transcendent; to be in her presence was to witness something greater then himself.

  
So he did .

  
At first he was very careful. He knew that most humans (especially female humans of her time) found the idea of an Observer (his kind or any other) distasteful. Obsessive watching of an object of one’s affections was not smiled upon and he did not want to instigate feelings of discomfort and distrust. So, for years, he watched over her in the most rudimentary sense.

  
Throughout her childhood he was a casual presence. A man who walked past the play yard twice a day on his way home without any memorable features or interactions.  
As she grew, he adjusted his routine to suit her. When in town he would sit at the local shop across from her Middle school, monitoring her comings and goings. She was a gangly thing then, not yet grown into the beauty she would become but the beginnings of it were there, the delicate features, the long limbs, she was becoming herself before his eyes and he marveled in it.

  
When she became a teenager he became a little more brazen. He would frequent museums and art stores, never truly catching her eye but always carefully watching.  
He had helped her on a few occasions. When she was nearly (unknowingly) mugged on her way home from a party late one night he was there to ‘convince’ the culprit to abandon the ruthless enterprise. When one of the boys from her high school attempted to slip something into her drink that man found his own drink compromised while Christine’s had mysteriously vanished. And, whenever it seemed she was more then a little melancholy, a small trinket or token found its way to her. He knew this behavior would be viewed as negative but he could not help it. Her happiness seemed paramount to his own and for both their sakes he found it advantageous to look out for her rather then wait for misfortunate to find her.

  
All the while fate loomed over her like the sword of Damocles. The ill-fated plane ride that would end her still young life was a catalyst he could not avoid. She was slated for death and he thought, that with years of foreknowledge about this event, he could accept it. As it turned out, awareness of his emotions made accepting it all the more impossible.

  
A year and a half before the plane crash he enrolled in Art classes at Boston University where Christine was teaching to earn extra money.  
There, behind an easel and a false identity, he met her face to face once more. Nerves kept him silent enough during the first class but, for some magical reason, she seemed just as drawn to him as he was to her.

  
It shocked him the first time, when he realized she was standing at his shoulder; her breath against the back of his neck, her face closer to his then he could remember it ever being. He felt his heart constrict in his chest. He tilted his head slightly, to look her in the face, and for a moment they were eye to eye. The gaze lasted longer then he believed was possible before she gave him a smile and turned to wander over to another student in the class. He felt his heart flutter in his chest.

  
The next week he moved closer to the front of the room. She spoke to him for twenty and a half minutes out of the sixty allotted class time minutes. She said that he had a natural talent. He felt inexplicably pleased at her praise despite his belief she was simply being kind to him.

  
The week after that she smiled at him and, as she passed, she let her hand dance across his shoulder. He felt like his stomach had turned in its place. He spent the rest of the night hoping she would repeat the action- she did- twice.

  
The third week she didn’t speak to him much during class but she nervously asked him to wait after the lesson was over. Disappointed at their lack of interaction, but loathed to deny her anything, August agreed. She asked him out for a coffee while wringing her hands nervously in front of her and half smiling. He could barely contain his excitement as he nodded his head.

  
They went to a small coffee shop on campus that was bustling with happy people walking here and there. He ordered a black coffee and watched her order a chai latte that had a smooth dusting of cinnamon over the frothy milk. He paid for their drinks despite her insistence that she pay and trailed behind her as she chose a booth for them to sit.

  
He allowed himself a moment to observe her taking that first sip of her drink and delighted in the small sigh of happiness that escaped her rose petal lips. He had frequented coffee shops throughout her teens years when she would attend poetry readings and music recitals. He always reveled in her first sip of a drink, it seemed to be a magical moment he had always longed to witness up close.

  
Then they talked. He had expected their first real conversation to be awkward, probably not as bad as the instance where he kidnapped her but awkward nonetheless; but it was nothing like that. He listened mostly as she spoke, as she shared her ideas and hopes and dreams. He asked questions mostly, skirting around things that he felt she did not yet need to know and would instead prompt her. Christine was a natural extrovert, he knew that for a fact and getting her to share her thoughts was not a challenge. They left when it became apparent that the coffee shop was closing up. He walked her to the bus and waited for her to safely enter.

  
This became their new routine. Class then coffee and then walking her to the bus. After the fourth time she invited him to ride with her; he offered to drive her home instead.

  
The fifth time he went inside with her. They had tea and spoke until dawn. Her roommate never seemed to be home.

  
The sixth time she took his tea from him and wrapped her arms around him on her small couch. He held her that night, allowing her to fall asleep against his chest. He stayed until the early morning when he slipped away, leaving a note and a warm coffee waiting for her.

  
The seventh time she kissed him. He had been sitting on the couch, simply speaking about music that he had once heard and it seemed that she listened to as well when she shocked him. She took the tea from his hand, placed it on the table and in a moment was straddling his lap. Her hands danced over his face, his neck his chest and even as she tilted his head to match the angle of hers his breath caught in his throat. He had waited for this, waited for her for so long that it had seemed like it would never come. That he could not possibly be successful in winning her affections yet here it was, she was on him, she was kissing him and he could not ever remember being happier then he was at that moment.

  
The eighth, ninth and tenth times melded together. Art lessons and tea and coffee and the couch became nights spent with her. She took him to her bed and soon enough he began to understand the advantages of a human lover. The passion that still seemed exude still eluded his people; the depth of emotion and love that overcame him when he joined her was indescribable.

  
Mornings were spent in her company, watching the dawn light play across her bare skin. From there he would go to ‘work’ and she would go to school and they would meet again after her classes. Somewhere along the line her roommate left permanently and he took up residence in her apartment.

  
When she announced she was going to Rome they had been together for long enough that his request she put off her departure by two weeks so he could join her was gleefully accepted. In a simple statement the crisis he had been dreading had been blissfully avoided.

  
The council of Months was not nearly as pleased with the results as he was.

  
Just as before a meeting was held but in this instance he could clearly articulate Christine’s importance. She was important to him. He was in love with her and would do anything in his power to keep her alive. He had not damaged the timeline as he had done before, drawing the attention of Fringe agents and everyone else in the vicinity. Instead, his methods were merely happenstance, a delightful side effect of his involvement in her life. However, that in and of itself was the deviation. Christine Hollis had done something no human should have ever done. She had bound herself to one of his kind. As it stood in the Council’s eyes it was a clear-cut decision. Christine could bind herself to her own death or to his life. Not both. They agreed that they would not kill her in cold blood (as that particular fate was now only reserved for those who proved themselves detrimental to humanity as a whole and was certainly not a sentence passed upon a mortal lightly) but rather they would keep her in a separate universe, a pocket of existence created by her own thought. It was an interesting proposal and one August could agree with despite his preference for only one of the two choices.

  
It was agreed upon that Christine would be brought to 2609 to hear the terms of their arbitration. But first August would explain the situation to her. It was this element of his plan August felt the most anxiety about and with good reason.

  
Christine did not take the news well.

  
By the time he had actually convinced her of who he was and what their situation was she was furious, upset and betrayed. He was certain the idea of spending an eternity jumping from time to time with him was likely the last thing on her mind. It was heartbreaking to think that their time together (as blissful as it had been for him) would be all they had. He comforted himself with the fact that she was indeed alive as was he; a feat he certainly did not achieve the first time they had played out their particular scenario, and that no matter where she was she was safe. As he left her home he told her as much, commenting that he would return in a few days time to collect her and that, in the meantime, she should pack whatever she wished for her new life.

  
To his immense shock she arrived at his apartment two days later, a day before he was due at hers, with a tearful look in her deep brown eyes. Moving into the room swiftly she asked those pertinent questions he had once dreaded answering.

  
_Could he have saved her parents?_

  
_Had he been stalking her all this time?_

  
_Why was she so special to him- what could possibly be so special about an orphaned Art Student?_

  
_Why had he lied to her for so long?_

  
_Was their relationship a lie or the truth?_

  
_If he hadn’t stopped her would she have died on that plane?_

  
He answered every question to the best of his ability until he felt as if each answer was being torn from him, leaving him exhausted. He sat on his own small, ragged couch watching her pace across the room; a regal bearing evident in every graceful movement despite her casual jeans and paint stained shirt. He had spent years preparing himself for this moment, steeling his emotions against this death blow. He was ready for the dressing down, ready for the rejection and he lowered his head to it; submitting to what would surely be her rage and the end of their affair. He told himself it was worth it. If losing her was the price of her life he would pay it a hundred times over.

  
To his immense shock it she did not seem to agree with his assessment of the situation. She did loom before him but instead of condemnations she rained down tears. She gently reached down and tilted his head up while pushing his body back against the cushions of the couch. He couldn’t understand what she was trying to do but he was all too aware that he was submitting to her. She straddled him, easily sitting upon his knees as her mouth pressed against his flesh. He let his own hands wander up, pulling her to sit more firmly over him as he returned her affection the best way he could. Soon enough Christine was leaning back, easing her body up nd onto his flesh with a sigh of soft relief and passion. He knew this meant something, it was nothing like their other couplings, but he could not put words to it. Instead of asking for an explanation he allowed her to use him, ride his body as she took control back from him in the most physical way possible. He did not know what this was but he knew it was something cathartic, and despite being capable of feeling emotions he would never he as in touch with them as she was with her own.

  
She went with him willingly two days from then, into his time, to stand before a council and hear the ruling that would define her fate. All the members of the council of months were required to be there but August was specifically grateful for the attendance of both December and September. The former explained the situation to Christine while the latter waited patiently to escort her to her new universe if she so desired. August had insisted September be the one to accompany Christine as he felt he was wholly unable to take her there himself should she decide to separate from him for all eternity. Even in his heartbreak he knew he would be more comfortable knowing she was with his friend and one of the few men he felt he could trust her with.

  
All too soon after they arrived the question was asked of her; what was her wish? Did she understand the reason for her being her and the dangers she posed by remaining in her own time? Did she desire a world of her own choosing or to share in his fate: to never belong to one place and instead transverse the boundaries of time?

  
He held his breath, too scared to even exhale, until a serene smile seemed to spread across her face. He felt awestruck as she reached over to take his hand and pulled his to her, molding herself to his side and tucking herself there.

  
He was her world she told his compatriots with a voice drenched in conviction, He was her home and it was her wish to remain with him for as long as they could be together. To be at his side until time itself ended or their lives did, whichever came first.

  
The words were simple, perfect and fearless; exactly like her. He was so overcome with emotion that he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly against his body in the most intimate position he could imagine himself being in front of his fellow council members.

  
And so it came to pass that they were bound together, perhaps more intimately then any human in her own time could understand. He would never see things as she saw them, he would never truly share in her own experience because his view of the universe was fundamentally different from her own but he understood that he loved her and that the depth of her love for him and inspired her to give up everything she had ever known to follow him head first into the unknown. If anything that he could appreciate just what that meant and he loved her all the more for it.


	3. Friends

**Friends**

Her hair reminded him of gold. In the stories his mother told him the princesses always had golden hair that shone like the sun; their crowns were usually gold as well and they wore dresses and people fawned over them.

He had seen princesses before, the real kind, and they looked nothing like the stories his mother had told him about. His father had shown him whenever the opportunity arose; lifting him up, letting him sit atop his shoulders as he stared at their couches and the chariots and his father explained to him that sometimes, reality and fantasy are not the same. He accepted it that, while he might like to see a princess, it was unlikely that he would ever see one that looked as they did in his story books; so when he saw her he couldn’t help but stare for a moment before slipping away from his mother and father.

He had never been shy. His father stated it was a trait his mother possessed as well. Bravery. So when he saw the girl that would be a princess he felt no qualms about walking right up to her in the middle of the part and asking her about it.

“Are you a princess?”

She looked up from her place in the lush green grass, staring at him with eyes the colour of the sky. Her face was pretty, with round cheeks and a small nose. Her skin was red from the bright sun and in her small hand she clutched a dandelion. They were growing all around in the park but in her hand they seemed much more regal then they did in the messy grass.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide and her eyebrows shooting up.

“Are you a princess?” he repeated evenly, tone unchanging and eyes unwavering.

The girl tilted her head slightly, looking at him as if she were deciding whether or not he was being serious.

“I’m not a princess.” She replied after a moment, “but sometimes I like to pretend I’m one.”

He nodded. Sometimes he liked to pretend things too.

“I thought you were.” He stated conversationally, dropping down into the grass with her and plucking a yellow dandelion form the large field before letting it fall in front of his feet “You have very pretty hair and a nice smile.”

She seemed to like this and she gave him a big grin as she began plucking dandelions as well, helping create a growing pile of yellow between them.

“Are you here by yourself?” she asked after a few moments and a few more flowers.

He shook his head, his shaggy brown hair falling over his brow, “No, my mom and dad are just over there. Their working though and I decided to explore.”

“OH,” she replied simply before looking over her shoulder towards two people on blankets laying in the son, “My Mommy and Daddy are over there.”

He leaned to the side to look. Sure enough a couple sprawled out on a large blue blanket not a few meters away. The man was larger with dark brown hair. He seemed to be leaning back against the woman, resting his head against the curve of her spine. She was laying on her stomach, her head propped up as she thumbed through a book in front of her. He noted that her hair was the same lovely colour as the girl in front of him although it fell like a smooth sheet of gold while the girl in front of him had twisting waves.

“You’re mom’s very pretty, like you.” He stated, turning back to look at her.

The girl before him seemed to blush at the comment and he wondered why although his own Mom blushed sometimes when his father said things to her in that low, smooth voice.

“My mom’s an investigator,” the girl replied happily, continuing to pluck flowers, “And my dad works at the Uni-versity.”

He smiled with the way she said the word before meeting her expectant eyes, ‘My mom’s an artist. She makes the most beautiful paintings in the entire world.”

The little girl nodded encouragingly so he continued, “My dad’s job is seeing things. He sees them and writes them down in a book and then we go to other places and see other things.”

The little girl looked at him for a moment before she broke into a smile, “Your dad’s a reporter!”

He thought it over for a moment before decided it was a good description as any. With a decisive nod he agreed with her. Looking at their now, large pile he reached down and separated a few flowers. Years ago his mother had taught him how to tie them together and his dexterous fingers made short work of the blossoms which slowly morphed into one long yellow cornet. The girl seemed intrigued, watching him with keen eyes.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, only that something in him told him that he should. Reaching over he pressed his lips to her cheek in a gentle kiss as he raised the twined flowers and placed them upon her golden head.

“There, now you have a crown.” He proclaimed.

She said nothing but jumped to her feet, reaching out her hand and dragging him up with her. Together they ran through the high grass towards the two people sitting on the blanket. He paused a small distance away, suddenly very nervous. His father would not be pleased with this turn of events. They were not supposed to interact, not supposed to interfere. However, another part of his mind argued that this was where his mother had been born, in this place at this time, and so, in a way, it was his time as well. He belonged here. The sense of belonging he felt he rarely felt elsewhere, it was the reason they kept coming back.

He still was cautious as he new companion threw herself down on the blanket before motioning for him to come closer.

“Look Mommy, this is my new friend. He made me a crown,” she exclaimed happily, “He thought I was a princess- a real one.”

Both her parents were not really paying attention; instead they seemed to be staring at him with a look that made him feel more then a little out of place.

“It’s a lovely crown.” The woman with the long hair replied gentle as she sat up. She stared at him with eyes that were not quite as cold as her husbands before turning to her daughter, “Etta, who’s your new friend?”

The little girl (Etta) seemed to straighten at the question, ”I don’t know. Hey, what’s your name?”

He felt the tension in his body rise. The way these people were looking at him, the way they were staring. He had the sudden awareness that they knew he didn’t belong here. That he wasn’t from this place and that he shouldn’t really be there. Scared, he back up, his eyes wide as he felt the anxiety rolling off the couple. It was directed towards him. They _knew_ he was different and that he was alone. He had made a mistake wandering away despite what his father had told him. He shouldn’t have talked to strangers and now he was alone with them.

He was just about to panic when he felt a solid presence against his back. Wheeling around rapidly he experienced immense relief at the sight of his father standing right behind him. His father seemed much taller when they were this close despite his mother’s assurances that he would grow to look just like the older man one day. He felt his father’s strength, the ever present suit and hat were a comfort to him and he clung to it- using his father’s unwavering peace of mind to ease his own fears. He reached up to grab his father’s hand, holding it tightly against his own chest. His mother was there too, her hand reaching down to press reassuringly against his shoulder.

Etta’s parents rose to their feet as well, standing before his own with serious looks on their faces. He could sense their anxiety turn to worry at the sight of his parents. Concerned looks passed between the adults. For a moment no one spoke but when they did it was his mother.

“Hi there, I hope our boy wasn’t causing any harm,” she grinned.

He watched his mother move forward, smiling in that way that seemed to get people to stop doing what they were doing and take notice of her. He saw his father move carefully, placing his large form between his mother and the strangers. Still his mother did not do anything that could be thought of as even marginally threatening. She grinned, more then happy to exchange greetings.

“No, no problem at all,” replied Etta’s mother after a short pause, “Our Etta was just talking about the crown your son made her. It’s really quite beautiful.”

His mother smiled, “Well, I think he’s very talented but I might be a little bias.”

He felt his own tension ease as his mother squeezed his shoulders comfortingly again, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

“Well I think you might be right,” Etta’s mother replied before reaching out a hand, “Olivia Bishop.”

“Christine Hollis,” his mother replied taking the hand and shaking it, “and this is my husband August and our son Augustine.”

“Peter Bishop,” Etta’s father stated seriously, reaching out to shake his mother’s hand and then his father’s. “If you don’t mind me saying you look very familiar. I think I might know a relative of yours.”

Augustine watched his father carefully, studying and waiting for a reaction. His father did not react as he expected.

“I think it is highly likely. I am one of twelve.” His father replied with a soft smile, “One of my brother’s in particular was known to spend much time in the Boston area, he was intrigued with a Doctor who taught at Harvard some time ago. He held the man in high regard.”

The statement seemed to ease down the tension in the situation although Augustine did not know why. Truthfully, it didn’t matter he felt everyone’s minds ease and his own fear seep away into the background.

Etta’s mother, Olivia smiled as she motioned for them to sit, “Are you here visiting?”

Augustine was not surprised when his own mother plopped herself down on the blanket; she only paused for a moment before reaching up and pulling him down with her. He felt himself drop into the small gap her crossed legs made and he leaned back against her, tucking his head under her chin.

“I guess,” she replied to Olivia, “Although he doesn’t really know we’re visiting. I went to school here and sometimes I just like to come back, spend some time in the park. Show Augustine where I grew up. You know normal family stuff, I think it’s important to have a bit of normalcy in a crazy, crazy world.”

He felt his mother bent forward to kiss him again, this time running her hands through his dark brown hair and over his face. He giggled at the sensation and turned to see his father was staring at his mother with a look of deep affection on his features. His father did that often, smiled and stared at his mother with that look and a gentle sort of affection. It made Augustine grin too.

“So that’s your only reason for being here?” Etta’s father asked.

Augustine fixed his eyes on the conversation, “Yes. My family expressed a wish to spend some time in Boston. As there always seems to be an event of importance taking place in this city at this time I felt it was advantageous to concede to those wishes.”

“Do you want to join us for dinner?” Etta’s mother asked suddenly.

His head shot up to his mother than to his father. He had never had a real friend before, he had never been able to go out to dinner with another family. The idea seemed exciting to him. He glanced at Etta who was grinning back at him with her pretty, pretty smile.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Peter, Etta’s father added with shrewd eyes, “It might be _advantageous_ to have an extended conversation.”

Augustine watched his parents exchange a look between them; Something he could not yet comprehend but had witnessed enough to know they were speaking to one another.

“There’s a great Indian restaurant near the opposite side of the park I’ve been wanting to try out.” His mother suggested helpfully, turning to glance at his father.

Augustine smiled. He had never heard his father say no to his mother. Not once in his entire life. He was going out to dinner with his new friend.


	4. Their First Time

**Their First Time**

They had had a fight.

It was the strangest thing; the thought just reverberated in her mind over and over again as she stormed through the labyrinthine hallways, turning out to the main atrium of the observer world. Tears streamed down her face, even as she wrapped her long coat around herself, as her feet took her out of the main area to the gardens that surrounded the large building.

It was moments like this she hated this place. It’s perfectly manicured lawns matched its perfectly manicured people. Even as she rushed by their eyes watched her movements, watched her distress with a keen interest that made her sick sometimes. She felt like an outsider, more then ever now, but had no way of escaping. She felt like she didn’t belong; a notion that hadn’t crossed her mind once since she had met August. Trapped, with no home to go to except one.

Just the thought of him forced her still, her long fleece coat wrapped around her to quell her involuntary shivers, despite the perfectly maintained temperature. Tonight she had seen a part of him she hadn’t even known existed.

Moving to a nearby bench she settled herself onto it, drawing her knees to her chest. The tears that had been streaming down her face were gone now. All that remained were wet tracks, evidence of her upset. Closing her eyes Christine tried to calm herself. She had never been good at keeping a level head in these sorts of situations. She was impulsive by nature and the words she had screamed at him weren’t anything close to how she actually felt. They were born of anger and frustration and just plain confusion but his accusation, his demeanor had been enough to set her off like never before and she had poured her frustration out in those few well timed words.

She had come home and he had been waiting there. Not that that was strange for August but he had been waiting for the door to open, standing in front of it like he was guarding it. She had just given him a look as she heard the door hiss closed behind her. Her packages were unwieldy so she hadn’t thought twice about his presence as she walked into their sleeping quarters, eager to discard everything as quickly as possible. The room was very plain; they never really stayed in this place for long so there wasn’t really any reason to decorate it. However, this last visit had required August to present much of his research to his superiors (December and some other observers she didn’t know) which had resulted in a ten day layover. Sitting there day in and out the apartment had been far too sterile and dreary for her tastes, today she had decided to change that. She’d found a nice spot to settle, set out her painting supplies and got to work. She was so lost in the familiar sensation of creation that, by the time she packed up, the day was gone.

“Where were you?” August asked.

She smiled, “I was in the park painting. There’s this beautiful garden full of flowers that are always in bloom.”

She set out her canvas onto their sleep palette and began unrolling it.

“It is very late.” He continued.

“Is it?” she replied, her eyes scanning to see the clock. It was hard to keep time here, they tended to come and go as they pleased.

“I came back to our quarters and you were not here.” August continued.

This time she turned and nearly fell over for how close he was standing. He was at her back with barely a sliver between them. In the time they had spent together she had learned to read August. He would often come off as cold, distant and unapproachable when, in reality she found him to be quite the opposite. All his kind seemed to operate in the same way; cool logic keeping an emotional maelstrom in check. She knew what it was like to be in the crosshairs of his feelings, it was probably the most intense sensation in the world (his or hers). But this was different. This was strange.

She had taken a step back.

It had all devolved from there. Christine wasn’t sure whether it was the stress of being trapped in this place (she knew he didn’t like it) or the fact that they were going ten or twelve hour stretches without contact (something that seemed to rattle him) but whatever it was his words were not his own.

“You are not to leave this quarters unescorted. If I am not able to escort you then I will arrange for September or December to do so.” He had stated in a way that was both indifferent and imperious.

Christine wasn’t sure whether it was an overreaction or not but she knew one thing, she had taken care of herself for the majority of her life. Without parents or any real family she had never been beholden to anyone. She had never had to explain herself, never had to justify anything she did and the main reason accepting August was so easy was because she didn’t feel the need to cow down to anyone else’s interpretation of their relationship. So when he had said those particular words to her in that particular way she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

She had told him, straight out that she was not his pet, she was not his prisoner and if she wanted to go out by herself she would.

He had told her she was being irrational.

She had told him to fuck off.

Then she had left. That had been hours ago.

Now she was sitting on a park bench feeling colder then she should, upset and worried. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he had a point, it probably was a little insensitive to just disappear like that, but the controlling way he had taken command of the situation made her feel kept. She hated the idea of being kept; like some sort of ‘Stepford’ wife waiting at home with bated breath for her husband to return. It wasn’t like August ever made her feel less then him but in reality she knew she was. This world, his world, was not like hers. Here people were so close to perfect that when she walked among them; artsy skirts, long brown hair and more curves then five of the modern women here combined, she felt out of place. The idea that August had taken her on because he wanted something ‘less’ then the women of his world bothered her way more then it should.

“You are upset.”

Her head shot up to see a man standing before her. He was definitely an observer and she detected something about him that was familiar, but other then that she was certain she had never spoken with this particular man.

She nodded her head and was surprised when he settled down next to her.

“I mean you no harm. I just wish to converse with you. Is this acceptable?” he asked in a sort of genteel way.

She looked at him closely. The same dark suit almost everyone in this place wore, the same pale skin and no hair at all. He seemed no different form the large number of other suit clad men she interacted with daily, however there was something about him that appealed to her. He had a calm that seemed into her, ebbing away the ragged edges of her emotion. She was surprised to realize she trusted him. She didn’t even know him but there was something about him that told her he was trustworthy.

“Do you know what it is for one of our kind to love someone?”

Christine stopped and turned to look at him. Clear eyes stared back at her, a light blue she found herself drawn to.

“Yes.” She replied easily, her mind settling on August.

“I do not think you do.” He smiled gently, in a way that made his words sound less condescending and more genuine, “We are of the same species, you and I, but our kind loves differently. Over the years, throughout the evolution of man, both natural and artificial, love has changed. Emotions have changed. What you feel, what you think is natural is not what we feel. Your love is as it was meant t be, as an emotion that you, as a human are capable of controlling.”

She found she wanted to argue but instead softly watched him reach down and pluck one of the flowers that grew around them.

“Our kind were created through a melding of the artificial and the natural. The result is that the emotional and intellectual centers of the brain were integrated with one another to create a more cohesive model. The two sides of the brain communicate more effectively, allowing us a greater breadth of physical endurance, intelligence and emotion.” Her companion stated, twisting the flower in his hands, “We have learned, over the course of centuries, to shield this part of ourselves. That to expose it to another is to leave both ourselves and the other person extremely vulnerable to the base impulses that have been amplified in us. It is the reason why many of our kind do not mate for life and why females no longer physically carry their young as humans in your time do.”

Christine narrowed her eyes, “how do you know so much about humans in my time?”

He merely smiled a charming smile, “I make it a point to keep appraised of such matters, you are unique among us.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, his briefcase resting on his lap while she sat with her knees still to her chest, glancing at him form the side of her eyes. He just looked so familiar to her.

“So have you ever been in love.” She asked.

“Yes. “ he replied simply.

She paused before continued carefully, “With a woman?”

He seemed amused by her statement and nodded his head, “I mated many times in my life for the sole purpose of producing progeny, each interaction occurred without incident. However, the third female I mated with I found myself developing very strong feelings for. We had worked together on several projects previous and decided reproduction would be amenable as we both were in possession of qualities the other found desirable. However, through the mating process, I began to grow fond of her to a greater extent then I suspected I would. We spoke on the matter and, as she admitted to sharing those feelings, we decided it would be prudent to maintain the understanding between us. It is uncommon among our kind.”

Christine found herself staring, “And you’re still with her today?”

“Yes.” The man answered with that same serene smile, “And she is still my co -worker. “

Christine stopped, and frowned, “Why are you telling me this?”

The man looked at her, and shook his head gently. Lifting his hand she watched as he reached up and tucked the small flower he had been toying with behind her ear before gently tugging a lock of her long brown hair over her cheek and running his fingers between it.

“I am telling you this because you are upset and he is upset.” The man replied gently, “Because a misunderstanding has occurred and I do not wish you to misinterpret his feelings towards you as animus. It took me years to find a female I wished to spend my life with and I know I will never stray from her, never stop loving her and because she is like I am I know she feels the same way. You are different from us. In some ways better, in some ways worse but in all ways different. He does not know how to communicate his concern to you effectively and I do not know how else to advise him in this matter. I do not want to see his grief at the loss of you consume him; and if he were to lose you it would.”

She felt like the world had dropped out from beneath her as she stared at the man before her. The familiarity was there; the shape and colour of the eyes, the same curve of the lips. Even the way he was touching her hair, it wasn’t romantic but that look of concentration was familiar. Enough so that she could pick it out now that she was looking for it.

He picked up on the thought and gave her a gentle look.

“In a way it is our fault. It is so rare that any of the council of months returns to this time and, in many ways, my partners and I are trapped here.” The man continued, “I nor my mate have had the opportunity to see our child in a good long time. We had thought it would be easier to cope with, knowing he was born for this and knowing that he is happy, yet we have been selfish. Monopolizing his time in the guise of work.”

“So you’re his boss and his dad?” Christine wondered out load, pursing her lips.

“Does this surprise you?” August’s father asked, tilting his head in the manner that seemed to define Observers.

“A little.” She replied.

“I am in charge of many science teams. Given his genetic make up August displayed an aptitude in both science and temporal exploration. He was assigned to a team of his choice. He chose your particular timeline.” The man stated.

“And found me.” She replied.

“And defied time to keep you.” The man added, “He loves you. Being separated from you physically hurts him. From our debriefing offices he cannot feel your mind, it, upsets him.”

She turned to stare and face forward, “He should trust me to take care of myself.”

“He fears that if he leaves you for an extended period of time misfortune might befall you.” The man continued, staring ahead without her now, “All your life he has been able to plan for your future, now that you are divorced from any set timeline you are unpredictable. We do not deal well with a lack of predictability.”

It made a strange sort of sense she guessed. She had always suspected he had been watching her, like a guardian angel. She didn’t even want to contemplate just how creepy that might seem to some people but to her it was sweet. She knew August.

“He has to learn to trust me.” She stated, this time turning her entire body to the man next o her, “How can I make him believe I can take care of myself?”

He seemed to think on the statement for a moment before saying, “He will learn. You must teach him. His concern is not based in his belief you are incompetent but rather the fear of losing you. He will outgrow the phobia but at the moment emotional exhaustion is taking its toll.”

She felt a stab of pity at that. August had never yelled at her before, still she felt uncomfortable returning considering the way she had left.

It was then she noticed her companion and risen to his feet and was holding a hand out to her.

“Come, I shall accompany you back to your domicile.” He stated as he pulled her to her feet and slipped her hand over the crook of his elbow.

Many others regarded them slightly before watching them walk through the winding pathways of the park.

“You don’t have to you know.” Christine began, a blush colouring her cheeks.

“My mate is currently conversing with our progeny at your domicile.” He said smoothly, “ It is counter productive for me to leave her there when I could accompany you to her.”

She stopped short, anxiety spiking within her, “I don’t know if I’m ready to meet his mother. I mean I just met you and I don’t even know your name yet.”

His father smiled with the same gentle eyes before drawing her back down the path, “My name is Winter. And she will like you. I do.”

 

August paced the length of the floor, his eyes downcast, his jacket discarded on the back of the long couch. Agitation echoed in every aspect of his form, from his hunched shoulders to the clenched jaw. In that moment he cursed himself, he cursed the situation and he even tried cursing Christine.

She was so headstrong. Granted it was one of the qualities he found most attractive in her but, in these situations, it was infuriating.

He had not been trying to precipitate an argument, rather he had wanted to keep her safe by maintaining control over her comings and goings; yet somehow the opposite had occurred. In expressing his concerns and instigating his decided course of action she had reacted badly and no he had no idea of her whereabouts. While his world was not wholly unsafe he recognized that Christine was a rarity, a black pearl in a sea of white. Other males desired her, he knew this to be a fact, and she had no means of actually protecting herself should someone decide to take her by force.

He felt sick to his stomach with the thought of it. Sick with the notion that she could be in danger at his moment and he was powerless to stop it.

“You should cease pacing,” the gentle voice seated upon the couch suggested evenly, “It is counterproductive.”

His head turned to look at the female there. She was wearing the normal suit and skirt most females wore, he own hat sat alongside her as she primly kept her hands and ankles crossed. Age was hard to define for his kind, they lived for centuries and aging seemed to elude them as verily as disease did. He could admit with an objective eye that she was quite lovely. Her strong cheekbones mirrored his own as did the way her lips were shaped. It was strange, to see this female before him, only aware of her role as his maternal forebearer and not of the other world he still recalled. He had been shocked at the notion of parents, not at all enticed to understand what they meant in the tapestry of his life and death. He had never seen parents as being any sort of benefit but he was grateful for her now. Her presence seemed to alleviate some of the stress he felt. She was calm and warm and consistent.

“I do not think I can.” He replied honestly, “Strangely stillness fills me with a sense of discomfort in this situation. “

“Understandable. You are under considerable stress.” She observed.

He paused taking another look at her. Their eyes met.

“You are in love with this female?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yes. I have loved her longer then I can remember.”

She nodded thoughtfully before pursing her lips together; a trait he had learned meant she was about to speak.

“Are you mated with her?” she inquired.

August found the question a strange one. No one ever asked about the nature of his relationship with Christine. Even they had never concretely defined it.

“We have engaged in sexual congress if that it what are you inquiring about.” He stated.

The female frowned, “Not at all. I wish to know whether an understanding as been reached between the two of you. From my albeit limited information about cultural and social norms in the twenty first century when a male and female decide they should stay together the make a verbal pact which is usually followed by a legally binding agreement; an agreement that can be broken but should be maintained by both members of the partnership. Humans of that time were largely monogamous. Strange is it not?”

He paused. He had seen the custom before.

“Do you believe I have not made the proper commitment to Christine?” August found himself asking.

“Hardly, a commitment is not needed.” The female replied, “The girl is very aware that you and she are never to be separated.”

August thought about this statement. It had not occurred to him that Christine might feel hampered by their arrangement. There were no indications she was unhappy; then again he was admittedly terrible at reading emotions, her outburst made that clear. Christine was tied to him. Not likely a notion she appreciated but definitely one is was not capable of changing. The thought that Christine was unhappy in her life with made her unhappy gave him a feeling not unlike severe indigestion.

“Then I should call a council meeting and appeal for a new supervisor for Christine,” he managed to choke out the words, but just barely.

“Now that is just melodrama.” The female scoffed next to him.

His eyes shot up to meet her; her lips quirked into a smile that was reminiscent of his own as she reached out and pressed her hand to the back of his head. Normally this sort of gesture was reserved for romantic intent but there was an intimacy here that broke upon him like water upon the sand, a connection he had not even realized existed between himself and this female. The physical contact heighted their empathy and he felt her support, her amusement at his predicament but mostly her comfort. This was a minor issue. He knew his own sense of relief was washing through her.

“Her entire world has changed and she is striving to establish at least one mod of normalcy in her new existence.” The female explained evenly, her head tilting to match the angle of his own, “You must allow for some freedom, some element of the unexpected. If you confine her too wholly she will grow to resent you.”

He nodded in understanding, the physical link between them allowing for the more fluid exchange of ideas.

“You have dealt with this issue before.” He stated, his own surprise evident.

She gave him a simple nod before pulling her hand away from his head and taking his hand in her own.

“Love is a powerful emotion.” She continued, “It is consuming, especially in our kind. You must guard yourself against the impulses it may instigate most especially in instances where you experience stress or exhaustion. Not all things can be controlled. It is why we send science teams to examine our own past.”

“Anomalies?” he queried.

“Anomalies are wonderful things. The precursor to human evolution.” She mused before pushing back from the couch and rising to her feet.

He followed as she straightened out her clothing and took her fedora from the side of the couch. She stood before him, as he settled in front of her. A fond look cross her face as she reached out and smoothed down the front of his shirt before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his cheek.

He reveled in the warmth there. Whether he recalled it or not the connection to her was so comforting he felt like he wanted to live in it. Not the white hot fire that was Christine was a mellow warmth of comfort that soothed him. He hated the moment she pulled away even as he heard the door his open.

TO his surprise his paternal parent stood in the doorway with Christine on his arm. She looked worn, darkness shading her eyes and her skin unnaturally pale. She was wearing the man’s jacket over her own and she seemed small in it. Nothing about her was as she normally was, the brashness, the inherent beauty and glowed within her was dimmed somewhat. He suddenly felt a stab of guilt wash thought him- a strange emotion he did not often feel. It was quite unpleasant.

“Is your conversation with August concluded?” the man asked, moving into the room and walking to stand beside his mate.

August regarded his parents for only a moment before moving to stand a little nearer to Christine. His relief was palpable when she did not immediately move away.

“Yes I believe it is.” The female answered before smiling at them.

His parents stood next to one another, no touching but obviously pleased at the close contact. To his surprise it was his more disconnected farther that addressed Christine, “ Miss Hollis, I should like to introduce you to my mate. Christine this is Summer.”

“I should like the opportunity to converse with you more privately.” She smiled at Christine, “Our progeny has nothing but praise for you. I do apologize for this rather informal meeting under these circumstances but I do hope you will allow us the opportunity to know you better.”

He cast watched as Christine processed the words, taking them in before allowing a small little smile to creep forward. She nodded her head.

His parents left together, his father following his mother out and August found himself in the odd situation of being nervous around Christine. She seemed worn, exhausted both mentally and physically. The tension sat between them like a living thing until she did something that broke it.

She moved quickly, crossing the floor in two steps before throwing herself into his arms, her face pressed tightly into his chest and her hands splayed across his back. He stood a step back at the impact but found his mind was not needed to immediately reciprocate the actions.

“I am angry at you.” She murmured into his chest, causing him to tense.

Yet even as he did he felt the warm waves of her love easing over him.

“But I love you and I am tired.” She continued before pulling away.

Their eyes met and she smiled her softest smile. He followed her, easing out of his clothing even as she discarded hers. Slipping onto their sleeping palette he let her tuck her back against his front, gently tucking her long hair around her head so as not to pull at it in the night. He rarely needed to sleep, it was not a necessity but in this position he knew she was more likely to slip into sleep and with all the anxiety their argument had brought it was nice to feel these serenity. It was nice to know that whatever else may be between them at the moment that he was wanted and needed.


	5. Augustine

**Augustine**

The creature in his arms was tiny, intimidating and wholly unexpected. It was not that he had not known the end result nor that he had not anticipated what it would mean but now, that the moment had arrived, August found himself at a loss about how to proceeded. Next to him his September stood, wide dark eyes fixed on the little figure squalling angrily at the pure white blankets that had been swaddled around him.

“He looks… agitated.”

August turned his head to his friend. It was hard to remember that this was the man responsible for their present existence; that without September’s intervention and his progeny’s role in the time stream the impossible creature he held in his arms would have remained just that. The irony was that now that August was capable of feeling grateful for his friend he could not chose any words that would adequately describe his emotions. So instead he nodded.

“I imagine being born is a harrowing experience.” He observed, tilting his head at the bundle.

They stopped for a while and looked. The small creature was wrapped in a white cloth, tucked in tightly in a manner that would imitate the comfort of the womb he had just been expelled from. The medics had informed them that despite his small size the infant was already perfectly acclimatized to his new environment and that physically there were no abnormalities. August had felt a weight lifted off his shoulders at the assurance. He had spent a good part of the last three months researching pregnancy and the complications inherent. The fact that this particular pregnancy should never had happened had always been a factor, their DNA (while similar) possessed startling differences. No one had been able to anticipate just what that meant for Christine nor the child she had borne him.

Moving to stand near a window he looked out into the horizon, watching the sun take its place in the sky. Their world was no a beautiful one, with stewardship and compassion for all living things being paramount in their minds. It was a good place to bring a child into.

“Have you named the boy yet?” September asked.

August turned, brow furrowed, “I had wanted to name him for his mother. Christine informed me that her name was normally exclusive to women of her time, not males. The male version, Christian or Christopher, does not please me as Christine does.”

September nodded, “The couple that raised my progeny named him Michael. Walter Bishop said it was a fine name. A common name but a good one.”

August found himself playing attention dispite his interest in the child in his arms. His friend rarely spoke of the progeny he had been forced to sacrifice for this new world. It was hard to believe it was even possible. Even as he held his new child in his arms August couldn’t imagine doing as September had done.

“Christine wished to name the child after me.” August continued, before frowning, “He does not look like me.”

September peered over his shoulder to stare as well. It was true. The child was like them but obviously not. Size not withstanding the most obvious different was the shock of dark hair that covered the tiny head. August was surprised as the child lacked any other body hair associated with humans of Christine’s time. He doubted that even puberty would cause growth. Still it was there, the mother’s dark hair covering the tiny head. He had even expected Christine’s hair the fall out when the implant was given to her to help her travel through time with more ease. It did not.

“He may still look as you do.” September said evenly, “His bone structure is too undefined at this point to pass any serious judgements.”

The baby in his arms yawned widely, little mouth making tiny little motions as the legs and arms seemed to struggle in the bindings. This little one had made quite a commotion in their world. The first child of their kind (half their kind in reality) to be born naturally. Most children at this point where artificially sustained and grown until they reached maturity at which point he parents would remove have the enclosure taken to a secure medical facility where the child would be removed and tested for any medical anomaly. Most parents were very pleased with their offspring, even if they did not remain together they shared in their parental duties until the child was old enough to display a preference for one parents’ interests or another. It was an effective system. August himself knew one of his father’s previous progeny was involved in scientific observation as well and that his father, Winter, had personally trained the female in the field. The fact that Christine had not wanted anything to do with the normal process was not surprising but it was exciting. No one had witnessed a female actually giving birth (at least not in their own time). In a planet full of beings who took great interest in observing history this event was indescribable. And September had been the most adamant about being with Christine the entire time. August decided he was lucky to have such a devoted friend.

“Would you like to hold him?” August suddenly suggested.

The other man seemed to start for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face, “Yes.”

Gently August moved over, easing the bundle from the crook of his own arm into September’s. The boy fussed for a moment, making whimpering sounds before settling into his new embrace. August watched his friend’s face spread into a warm smile.

“Augustine.” September whispered before tilting his head, “It was the name of a religious figure. The name itself means great.”

The child blinked at the calling of the name, dark eyes fixing upon the man holding him.

“He responds to it.” August observed carefully, reaching out to run a finger along the child’s smooth brow, “Christine and I wish to ask a favour of you my friend.”

September cocked his head to the side but did not speak.

“Should anything happen to us, should our lives be cut short in anyway, we would like a promise that you will take guardianship of this child.” August began, “and any children we might have at the time. You are free to refuse this offer, my biological progenitors are willing to take on these roles should you no longer wish to have them”

“I accept the offer.” September stated without almost no hesitation, “It is an honour.”

August nodded as they smoothly switched the child between them. Even at the young age the little one was able to convey its desires an thoughts well enough telepathically. IT was hungry and was yearning for the warmth of its mother. August and September turned in tandem towards the medical ward where Christine was recovering form her ordeal.

“Augustine.” August repeated gently as they turned the corner towards Christine’s room, “I believe it is a good name. “


End file.
